“But you chose Ferox to train him.”
She refrained from mentioning that Ferox had been her third choice, after Jason and Penthesilea. “Ferox has done very well with him.”
“You should consider acquiring a second gladiator soon,” Lucullus advised. “Take advantage of Ferox’s expertise while he’s here. I expect that as soon as the games are over, he won’t stay a moment longer than he has to.”
A strange pang went through her. But of course Ferox would leave once his contracted three fights were finished. Her unclehad said it took an obscenely lavish offer to tempt Ferox to return. Besides, he was already old for a gladiator, and he couldn’t fight forever.
At least the games would stretch for two whole months. She didn’t have to worry about saying goodbye just yet.
Soft footsteps sounded in the dirt behind her, and she turned to see Ferox, as if her thoughts had summoned him.
Dis, he looked spectacular. His chest was bare, the powerful muscles exposed to the sunlight, thatched with an array of scars. A loincloth, secured at his waist with a heavy leather belt, regretfully hid his most impressive assets. Like Achilles, his sword arm was covered with a plate guard. Outfitted like this, his shoulders seemed broader than ever, and her cheeks heated as she remembered putting them to excellent use last night. No doubt that had something to do with why her lower body felt thoroughly destroyed this morning.
Now, with anxiety over the upcoming fight gripping her, all she wanted was to sink into his arms and bask in the comfort of his embrace. But with her uncle watching, she had to show a bit more decorum, so she greeted Ferox with a polite nod.
“It’s about to start.” She gestured toward the arena, her chest tight. “I hope he doesn’t die.”
Ferox stood just behind her, close enough that she could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. “He won’t die. No one dies in their first fight. His opponent isn’t skilled enough to kill him, and the crowd doesn’t care enough to call for his death.”
Velia exhaled, trying to take comfort in his words. “Are you ready for your own match?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod. “I had a very restorative night of…sleep.”
Velia pressed her lips together against a smile. Luckily, her uncle was staring out into the arena, so he wouldn’t notice the flush that was surely staining her cheeks.
The fight began, and Velia forgot all about Ferox’s expansive shoulders and warm skin and rippling muscles. Achilles and the other gladiator circled each other. When experienced gladiators fought, this initial circling always had an air of evaluation, assessment; they were noticing each other’s height and reach and stride, crafting a strategy for the imminent battle.
But here, the two novices simply seemed to hesitate. Their steps were tentative, as if neither wanted to move too far or too quickly in case it prompted the other to strike.
Boos rang out from the crowd. The official, standing at the edge of the arena, shouted something at the fighters, exhorting them to get started.
Velia held her breath. The other gladiator struck first. Achilles blocked the strike with his shield but stumbled back a step under the force of the blow.
Velia tensed. She edged backwards until she could just feel Ferox’s warmth behind her, without touching him. She half-expected him to adjust his position to put more space between them, but he remained where he was.
As the fight progressed, she clasped her fingers together, pressing her entwined hands to her mouth. Achilles’s left-handedness allowed him to get a successful thrust behind his opponent’s shield. The other fighter had to awkwardly maneuver his shieldto defend from the unexpected angle, and Achilles managed to deal him a shallow cut on his chest.
But the wound, rather than weakening the opponent, seemed to spur him to greater energy. Achilles soon found himself on the defensive, stumbling backward, blocking with his shield, unable to launch an attack.
Achilles tripped over an uneven patch of sand behind him and fell flat on his back. He struggled to rise but couldn’t find purchase on the shifting sand. He dropped his shield and raised a finger in the signal for surrender. His opponent paused, standing over him with his sword held in an uncertain grip.
Velia’s breath hissed through her teeth. She stuffed her fingers into her mouth, chewing anxiously on her nails. Along with everyone else, her attention shot to the place where the emperor and his retinue sat. As the host of the games, he would ultimately decide the fate of each losing gladiator.
Behind her, Ferox stood as calm as ever, his breathing steady. Was he even paying attention? Did he realize Achilles was one man’s whim away from death?
She wanted to look back at him, to see if his face revealed anything, but she couldn’t tear her focus from the arena.
The emperor tossed out a careless hand, as if to sweep away the fighters before him.
Thank the gods.It wasn’t the thumb-out gesture that meant death. Velia swallowed hard as relief pulsed through her.
In the arena, the other gladiator helped Achilles to his feet, and they trudged toward opposite exits.
“He survived!” Velia gasped. She finally turned her head to look at Ferox. Her uncle had disappeared at some point; the fight hadnot been particularly exciting, and he must have had something else to attend to.
“I told you he would,” Ferox said, with only a trace of smugness. “He lost, though.”
Velia could hardly spare the energy to be displeased at the loss. It wasn’t ideal, of course; the more Achilles won, the higher price she could fetch for his appearances. But for his first match, she was happy with survival. And he wasn’t even injured, which was another blessing.
